A/N: It's helpful but not necessary to read Memory
Box: Part I to understand what's going on here.
Though if you don't read it, you may wonder
what Spike is doing in London, why Buffy's with him, and why he owns a house
in Queen's Gate Terrace.

CHAPTER ONE

"You seen any of London yet?" Spike asked, tucking the Slayer
beneath his arm and strolling up the street.

Buffy shook her head and slid her arm across Spike's back beneath
the duster. Once again, her fingers tangled in his t-shirt. "I haven't much
been in the mood to play tourist."

"You in a better mood today?"

"Well, yeah." She rubbed his back and gave his waist a squeeze
before stuffing her fingers inside his back pocket. "But we can't play tourist."

"Can too. Can do anything we want to." Reversing directions
on the pavement, he began pulling her down Gloucester Road.

"Spike, no." Her fingers dug at his where they'd captured her
wrist. "We can't. It's cloudy now, but that could change. You should get indoors."

"Won't change."

"You can't know that."

"I know London weather. Won't change."

She braced her feet against his strength, which had little effect
except to make her trip after him. Slayer and vampire both knew she could
have overridden him easily had she wished it. The other pedestrians couldn't
have cared less what the odd couple were doing on the busy London street.

"I don't want to risk your burning up," Buffy protested.

He stopped so quickly, she nearly ran into him.

"Not a risk when we're traveling underground." Taking Buffy
by the shoulders, Spike spun her around to face the building before them.
"Gloucester Road tube station. What say we grab a ticket?"

She bit her lip. "It's tempting."

Spike grinned and did that tongue thing he did so well. "Friend
of mind once said the best thing to do with a temptation is yield to it."

"A friend of mine once said while opportunity knocks, temptation
leans hard on the bell. It never gives up, sort of like you."

Buffy...."

His eyes were so eager, so earnest and so blue, Buffy closed
her mouth on the strong refusal she had ready.

"Come on, pet." He was practically bouncing on his feet. "Got
you all to myself for the first time in months. You're in my city, my territory.
Let me show it off to you."

Sliding up behind Buffy with a predator's grace, the vampire
slid his hands around her waist. His fingers spread across her stomach. Those
hands slid even lower and tightened just so, making something deep inside
Buffy flutter. Enfolding her in his duster, Spike pushed his nose against
the back of her ear and purred.

"You know I'll make it good for you, Slayer." He was holding
her so tightly, she could feel his voice vibrate inside of her. "Show you
the Tower of London. The Crown Jewels and the Beefeaters."

"No, pet, that's what we call the guards. What say we nip over
to Tower Hill and I show you the Bloody Tower?" His fingers snuck further
inside her jeans, were caressing circles much lower than they should have
been on a public street.

Buffy closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Oh. God."

"I'll take that as a yes." Catching her hand, he yanked her
inside the station. Studying the rate chart, Spike muttered to himself while
Buffy tried to uncurl her toes.

"Not like we're playing tourist only one day," he muttered.
"Too much to show you, so think a month pass would be better for both of us.
Here now, let's get our pictures taken and no making faces, Slayer. No sitting
on my lap either, much as I know you want to. This one's solo for the transit
authorities."

She agreed with Spike that it was "right handy" to have a photo
booth right there at the entrance to the tube station, so that one could get
a photo and obtain a month's pass immediately from the man behind the glass.
In only a few minutes, she and Spike had their very own passes to the London
Underground to flash at the guard before passing neatly through the turnstile.

"It's the Circle or the District Line east we're wanting." Spike
said as he captured her hand again to guide her down the narrow stairs. "Come
on, don't dawdle. The ravens won't wait."

"Ravens?"

They reached the platform, and Spike peered impatiently down
the dark tunnel for the train. "Yeah. Eight of 'em are kept at the government's
expense 'cause they're the palladium of the realm."

"The what-sit?"

"Palladium. An image from legend on which a city's safety is
said to depend. They teach you nothing at that school of yours?"

"I'd forgotten how fast your words can leave my brain behind."

"You complaining already?"

"Nooo. Just realizing how lazy I've gotten recently."

A train rumbled into the station, and Buffy followed her vampire
aboard. Once they were settled, she rested their joined hands on his thigh.
"So, what about these palladium birds that won't wait?"

"Legend says so long as the ravens are at the Tower, Britain's
safe from invasion."

"Demonic or mortal?"

"Mortal. Both. I don't know, Slayer. It's a sodding legend."

Buffy stroked his hand. "Poor Spike. You don't like being interrupted,
do you?"

He glowered at her, his full lower lip coming out to play. "You
asked, I was telling. Can't tell if you keep interrupting. You treat your
uni dons like this?"

She snuggled against him. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm
not a student, and you're not a professor. But go on. I promise not to interrupt
again."

"Where was I?"

"Legend says Britain's safe from invasion as long as the ravens
are there," Buffy summarized dutifully. "But you don't know what kind of invasion
the legend is talking about."

"Right. Not much else to tell. Legend also says if the ravens
leave the Tower of London, the White Tower will crumble and the monarchy will
fall. The raven keepers trim the birds' flight feathers to prevent them leaving.
'Course, they mate on the wing, so they're right frustrated all of the time."

"The raven keepers mate on the wing?"

"Yeah. Go soaring out over Traitor's Gate and the Thames like
bloody archangels, they do." He nudged her. "Get up, pet. This is our stop."

~ ~ ~

"The names of the eight ravens currently in the
tower are Gwylum, Thor, Hugine, Munin, Branwen, Bran, Gundulf, and Baldrick,"
proclaimed the Beefeater, pacing patiently behind one of the birds.

"Which raven is that one?" Buffy asked.

"Don't know," said Spike. "Didn't put on its name tag this morning."

Buffy looked up at the vampire. "You know, if you'd told me
those names before, I'd have thought you were making them up."

"Not me. I'd have told you they were named Giles, Xander, Willow--"

She smacked him lightly in the arm.

"That'll bruise. Gonna kiss and make it better, Slayer?"

"Absolutely. Just not here." She tugged him away from the guard,
who was being surrounded by tourists eager to ask questions. "Come on, mister.
Show me your tower."

"Love to." Leering, Spike trapped the tip of his tongue between
his teeth and began stalking her in the predatory panther style that always
made Buffy's adrenaline kick in. "Want me to show you now or later when we're
alone?"

"I....um...." She walked backward away from him as he continued
deliberately pacing her. The duster flared around his legs and Buffy stared,
could feel herself blushing. "I walked into that one, didn't it?"

"Walked in, closed the door, and delivered yourself very nicely,"
Spike agreed. Lengthening his stride, he pounced to tuck her beneath his shoulder
in one easy motion--a place Buffy was fast learning was a favorite with him--and
kissed her forehead. "Come on. I'll let you off the hook and show you the tower, as opposed to my tower."

~ ~ ~

Buffy stood wide-eyed before the Crown Jewels while Spike stood
beside Buffy and offered a running commentary on their history that had other
tourists inching closer to listen. A gaggle of tourists followed like goslings
in hopes of more tidbits as Spike led the Slayer through the display.

Always aware of any attention he might be getting, Spike whirled
at the exit and addressed the small crowd. "The lady and I will be examining
torture in the Tower next. Feel free to join us."

The tourists laughed at being found out and followed sheepishly
in Spike's dustered wake.

Entering the narrow room, the vampire hung back in a shallow
alcove and let the tourists file past. He didn't move or speak until the group
of men, women and children were all waiting for him in front of shadowed display
of some sort of wooden medieval furniture guarded by a thick plexiglass barrier.
Some cast anxious glances over their shoulders to peer at their impromptu
guide.

What is he planning? Buffy wondered.

Spike raised his head, and his smirking face was too familiar
to the Slayer. Years before, she'd first seen that amused predator look before
the vampire had begun toying with her inside Sunnydale High.

"Spike?" she whispered.

"It's all right, pet. Slinking forward, he used the same suggestive,
hypnotic walk Buffy had seen years before in Sunnydale High to approach the
tourists. "It's been said that only the Rack, the Scavenger's Daughter and
the Manacles were used here in the Tower. It was only a little torture—only
two centuries' worth. The three of 'em are replicated right over there."

Spike nodded at the objects behind the plexiglass. As one, the
tourists turned their backs on the vampire to view the replicas. Stupid
tourists, thought Buffy.

"See that big placard announcing 'Torture in the Tower'? Touch
the computer screen next to it, and you can read a bit about the torturers
and their victims. It's all historical. Clean and tidy, too. Can't smell anybody's
blood or worse. Can't hear the screaming. Can't hear anybody begging for their
life or protesting their innocence. The tourist board doesn’t want to scare
you." He stopped and smirked at a pair of teenaged girls. "Are you scared?"

They giggled at him. One tossed back her hair. "No."

"No." Spike tilted his head. "You two don't feel anything for
Ann Askew? Accused of treason, she was the only woman tortured here. Maybe
happened right where you're standing. Since, like Ann, you don't want to confess,
how about I strap you to that Rack over there, dislocate your arms and legs,
and then rip them out of their sockets? Think you'd feel something then?"

One of the girls dropped her gaze to the stone floor. Whatever
the other girl saw in Spike's face made her leap back and try to hide behind
her friend.

A boy stepped up to pull on Spike's sleeve. "Where's the iron
maiden?"

"Not here," said the vampire. "Best one was in Nuremberg, but
she was destroyed during the war."

"How did she work?"

"Had two doors, like a cabinet." The vampire gestured by way
of illustration. "Featured an interior studded with spikes. The maiden impaled
you in the eyes, chest and back, but left you alive to feel it for days. She
had a trap door in her bottom that let her minders drop your greasy remains
into the river or moat below."

"Awesome!"

"Glad you think so." Spike clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"So. That accounts for London and Nuremberg. Other toys were used elsewhere.
Cat's paw, mutilation shears, ear chopper, iron gag, knee splitter, caspie-claws,
thumbikins. Most are pretty self-explanatory. Just look 'em up on the Internet
and enjoy."

"What are caspie-claws?" the boy pursued.

"Let me tell you." Leaning against the stone wall and crossing
his arms, Spike began his narration in earnest. "They weren't used here or
so say the history books. They were used in Scotland in June of 1595 after
the Earl of Orkney had some family troubles. His brother John tried to murder
him, first by witchcraft and then by poisoning. A notorious witch named Alison
Balfour was said to have helped him. Alison swore she was innocent and no
evidence could be found, but it was enough back then to be accused. Her legs
were put into the caspie-claws--iron cases for the arms or the legs. The cases
were heated over braziers until Alison's flesh burned. She was kept like that
for two days."

"Oh, God," said someone in the crowd.

Spike hesitated. "It gets worse. Want me to stop?"

"No," said an older woman with a Scots accent at the front of
the crowd. "This part of our history needs remembered so it never happens
again. You go on and tell what happened to Alison."

"She didn't confess, so they brought in her family. Alison watched
as her elderly husband was slowly crushed to death by fifty stone of iron
bars." The vampire glanced at Buffy. "That's seven hundred pounds. Alison
still didn't confess, so her son was next. A boy like you." Spike nodded at
the one who'd asked about the iron maiden. "They put the boots on him. Anybody
know what those were?"

A few people shook their heads.

"Your legs got put between two planks of iron and bound with
cords. Then the torturers used a cousin to today's sledgehammer to drive in
wooden wedges from your ankles to your knees. With every strike, the inquisitor--a
different fellow from the torturer--repeated the question. First your flesh
split, then your bones cracked, then the marrow gushed out. Your legs were
useless when the torturer removed the boots, and you died a little later.
They gave Alison's son fifty-seven strokes, but his mum still didn't confess."

"I
can't believe this," someone said over the tourists' murmuring.

Spike shrugged. "Like this lady here said, it's a documented
part of history and not just Scotland's. Next came Alison's little girl. Didn't
have boots small enough to fit her, so she got the piniwinkies--sort of a
thumbscrew. Did the same thing as the boots only to the little one's fingers
and toes. Crushed them until the blood spurted out from under her fingernails."
He nodded at the two teenage girls who had giggled at him in the beginning.
"You feeling anything over there yet?"

"Stop it," whispered one of the girls.

"The torturers didn't stop, and Alison finally broke down. Confessed
to witchcraft and probably to the seven deadly sins as well. 'Course she was
convicted. Recanted her confession later when she was about to be put to death
on the Heading Hill of Kirkwall, but they burned her anyway. Deducted the
cost of her trial and execution from her estate, too. Should probably mention
this all happened in Edinburgh. Not here. If that matters."

"Did the little girl live?" someone asked.

"The
records don't say, but my guess is no. Even if she did survive her fingers
and toes being crushed, who'd take in a convicted witch's child? And so--"
Spike pushed away from the wall. "Hope you enjoyed this little torture tour
as much as I enjoyed taking you on it."

Giving a mocking bow to the stunned and silent crowd, Spike
strode back to a stunned Buffy. "I'm feeling peckish, pet. Care for a snack?
"

CHAPTER TWO

"You feeling better?" asked a sheepish Spike as he scooted closer
to Buffy on the black iron bench.

"Not really, no." Buffy sat primly and stared down at her folded
hands.

"Didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," she protested for the fifth time in as many
minutes. "I just..." She glanced across at him. "I'm trying to wrap my mind
around the fact that they tortured and executed people here five hundred years
ago--"

"Three hundred, pet."

"Whatever. They hurt and killed people here, and now tourists
want to hear really detailed stories about it from you, and moms and dads
bring picnics for their kids and eat right over there by...by that block where
they beheaded people. It's sick!"

"Well yeah. It's a tourist attraction. People have died at Disneyland
too."

"Nobody's been tortured at Disneyland."

"Never been through 'It's a Small World' have you? Dru and me--"

"Not now, Spike."

He slouched on the bench and scowled at the family seated on
benches across the green and eating the sandwiches that had inspired part
of Buffy's outburst. One of the Tower ravens sidled closer to the family's
children, hoping for a handout.

"I get it," Spike said. "You need a few minutes to get back
your appetite."

"Among other things. I need to be alone for a few minutes,
please?"

"Sure. You stare at the grass and glower at me for having some
fun with the tourists at the expense of people who are three centuries dead."

"Don't--"

"Don't what, Slayer? You're upset, I get that for all that you're
saying you're not. What I don't get is how I can entertain a sodding group
of strangers with a bit of history, but I can't be allowed to help fix whatever
it is that's wrecked your good mood. You were happy enough looking at the...the
diamonds and stuff, so it's obviously something I did with the torture."

Pushing off of the bench so hard that it vibrated beneath Buffy,
Spike stomped across the grass and startled a raven into flapping frantically
to get out of the way. Joining one of its fellows on a nearby rock, the bird
ruffled its feathers and cawed after the vampire.

"Sod off!"

Why do I feel like this? Buffy pondered. Why do I
feel so... unnerved... about what happened in there? It's not like Spike tortured
those poor people all those centuries ago. And it's not as though I don't
know what he did do. I thought I'd come to terms with that while we
were still in Sunnydale. I mean, he went and got his soul to ensure he'd know
good from evil and be able to choose accordingly. His conscience and his soul
are every bit 'there' as my own are. So why am I sitting here freaking over
him when I know I love him and this is our first day back together? Why am
I wrecking this?

"Excuse me?" A tall, well-built woman hurried in Spike's direction.
She practically broke into a run before the vampire stopped and stared at
her.

"You yelling at me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, I know it's terribly rude of me, but I'm an
informal student of the Inquisition. Might I have a moment of your time?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Your lecture was better than a horror movie, Mr.--"

"Spike."

"Mr. Spike."

"No. Just Spike." Turning, the vampire sighed and gave her his
full attention. "What can I do for you?"

"You've already done it." The woman beamed. "You made me think
because you made Alison come alive for me in there. Your story and its horrible
details? They resonated with me."

"Yeah?"

"Through your words, I felt what it was like to be confined
to the torturer in a way I never have while merely reading about the instruments
themselves. You have a gift, Spike. What sources did you pull from?"

He scuffed the toe of his boot in the grass. "Umm, it's been
awhile since I was at the books, but I think you can find the details in the
Annals of Scotland, Reign of James the Sixth, 1591 through 1603, Part C."

Spike is an historical scholar of torture? Buffy barely refrained
from rolling her eyes. Why does this not surprise me? Then again, so's the
very mortal woman he's talking to, right? I wonder if she'd be into it if
she knew how many demons would be glad to give her an up-close, personal look
at being tortured. Once upon a time, Spike was among them.

"For the other stuff," Spike was saying, "try Guiley's book
from 1989 and Sidky. Can't remember the date for his work."

"You do know that torture occurred over a relatively short period
of time of the Tower's history?" the woman ventured.

"Right." Spike eyed the sky for a moment where the sun was trying
to break through the clouds. Strolling casually back toward Buffy, he regained
the shadows and safety. His fan followed him. "During the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries."

"Yes, exactly. Of the prisoners passing through the tower, only
a tiny fraction were ever tortured."

"A fraction more were executed." Spike dropped the fact casually,
but the woman flinched. "Ever think about that?"

"Do you know why they stopped torturing people? Was there an
outcry against it?"

"A few contemporary critics claimed torture was cruel and ineffective
because a man on the rack would say anything to be released. Those critics
were right with a few notable exceptions, like Alison."

"Have you other sources you might share with me?" the woman
pursued.

"Have you pen and paper?"

Spike scribbled in the notebook the woman pulled from her purse,
and Buffy grew bored with the conversation that resumed after he'd finished
scribbling. The woman took her leave eventually, and Spike glanced warily
toward Buffy. Offering a silent smile by way of apology, she patted the bench
beside her and tried to look harmless. Relatively, anyway.

Spike returned to sprawl on the bench and scowl with his legs
stretched before him. "Know you were watching, Slayer. Can't tell what you're
thinking, but I stuck to the facts. It's all in the history books."

Buffy sighed. "Do you want to hear what I'm thinking, or do
you just want to assume bad things?"

"Always willing to listen. Never sure you want to let me in."

He'd shoved his hands into his duster pockets, much too far
away for Buffy's liking. Slipping her hand inside, she wrapped her fingers
around his.

"I'm not deliberately shutting you out," she protested. "I'm
trying to figure out what I feel about what you did with the tourists."

"Yeah?"

She chewed her lip. "In Sunnydale, you always had words while
I was still stuck feeling things. Words take a long time with me.

"You're using them great at the moment," Spike observed.

"But this is as far as I've gotten. All I'm doing is thinking
out loud. Will you help me work through this to the end?"

Buffy squeezed his hand. "How weird is it that I'm at the Tower
of London with a vampire in broad daylight...cloud light, anyway...and you're
making friends with the tourists rather than eating them?"

"More interesting to talk to them," Spike muttered. Sitting
up straighter on the bench, he laid their still-entwined hands on Buffy's
knee and turned to offer her the same focused attention he'd given the scholar-tourist.
"How strange is it that a vampire loves the Slayer and that she's written
him all sorts of letters when before she always shut him out?"

She played with his fingers. "I thought I had to do everything
alone."

"You still feel that way?"

"No. But the intense way you stare at me makes the Slayer in
me twitchy. I feel like prey."

"Sorry." Spike looked away. "That better?"

Laying her hand against his cheek, Buffy gently turned his face
back to her. "Don't stop doing it. It's my problem, not yours, and I'll get
used to it. Your eyes have always been so expressive whether you were hating
or loving me."

Her fingers traced the scar in his eyebrow. "It's kind of scary
talking like this without any barrier. Not even pen and paper. I've never
let anybody so close."

"Not Willow or Rupert or Peaches?"

"No. I couldn't be the independent Slayer and vulnerable, open
Buffy at the same time. You made sense of the silent stuff then, so maybe
you can help me make sense of the talky stuff now." Groaning, Buffy fell back
against the bench. "I'm babbling, aren't I? Where am I going?"

"I don't know, but keep going."

She laid her arm over her eyes. "I can't. I'm stuck. I told
you talking and me are non-mixy."

"How about you think back to when we were inside the torture
exhibit. What were you feeling then?"

"You...You said you were going to give everybody the shivers.
That's what they were there for. You looked predatory, the way you did when
we met inside Sunnydale High. All, 'I'm gonna have lots of fun with you.'
I thought you were enjoying it way too much."

"Enjoying what?"

"Making the tourists shiver."

"I see." Spike considered that for a moment. "I used to tell
Dawn stories that made her shiver. Like the one about the little girl in the
coal bin."

"You were chipped and unsouled then."

"I may be unchipped and souled now, but you know I'm still a
vampire. Still dangerous." He gave a shrug. "What's the difference if I'm
telling stories?"

Spike gave her a minute before asking, "Do you think I wanted
to hurt those tourists?"

She didn't hesitate. "No."

"Are you sure, Slayer?"

"Oh, yeah. You're a hundred percent more gleeful when you want
to hurt someone," she said petulantly, flapping her hand at him.

He tugged on her arm. "Pet, it's difficult to talk when you're
languishing like Camille. Could you sit up and look at me?"

"Who's Camille?"

"The heroine dying of consumption in 'La Traviata'."

She sat up and shifted on the bench so that she was facing him.
"I haven't coughed or tried to sing to you once."

"Right." Sliding his arm around her, Spike drew her in. "Feels
better if we touch while we talk, yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Buffy, have you noticed that from the moment I got this shiny
soul of mine, there's been no time for either one of us to learn what it means.
We were busy battling the First for a year, and then I burned up. You and
the Nibblet went off to Rome to rebuild your lives, while I tried to fight
the good fight in Los Angeles. I'm coming to terms with being a vampire with
a soul, while you're coming to terms with maybe wanting to have me around.
It's never going to be all sunshine and kittens between us."

She looked at him for a long moment. "We'd both be bored if
it were sunny kittens all of the time."

"Well, yeah."

She sat up. "You know something else? I'm a dope."

Spike shook his head. "You called me that once. Never forgot
it."

"It's me who's wrong. More twitchy than wrong really, about
nothing. You didn't do anything bad to those tourists. You didn't even want
to. You...you've just got this weird, outrageous sense of humor. Remember
just before we fought for the first time when you told me that you liked weapons,
they made you feel all manly? You, Mr. 'I've Already Got My Weapon'-vamp?"

He arched an eyebrow. "You were the slayer who wanted to throw
yours away. I was just making some pre-fight conversation."

"You were posing. Strutting, even. You wanted me to stare at
your crotch."

"Well, yeah. Distract you, then leap on you and tear out your
throat. It's what I do. Did."

"I remember those worn button-fly jeans you wore. It was impossible
to ignore your crotch or its attachments. Anyway...." She gave herself a little
shake. "That was then, this is now. Where was I?"

Spike smirked, his blue eyes danced. "You were staring at my
crotch."

"See? That just proves my point, that you have this perverse
way of looking at things. I don't mean it's wrong, it's just weird. And you
have this...this mind that hoards trivia like black velvet collects lint.
You've always been outré--"

"Do you even know what that word means, Slayer? French is not
your friend, you were fracturing it the first night I saw you."

"Outré means highly unconventional and eccentric. You
used it one night and I looked it up after I got home."

"Well. Think of that."

"Don't get all conceited, it happened only once. The point I'm
trying to make is that I've never realized before how outré you've
always been without losing your humanity."

The vampire frowned at her. "What's my humanity got to do with
my sense of humor?"

"Everything's tied together. Your sense of fair play and not
wanting to kill me unless we'd had a fair fight. Your not killing Mom because...why
didn't you kill my mom?"

"I like mums."

"See? That's not vampish, it's human. You didn't want Angel
destroying the world because you liked the English equivalent of moms and
apple pie."

Spike snorted. "I hadn't even met your mum then."

She nudged him. "You know what I mean. Later on, you went all
chivalrous. You wanted to open doors for me and kept Mom and Dawn safe for
me."

"Wasn't always stalking you when I spent all those nights smoking
in your front yard," Spike said quietly.

That earned him the softest of kisses. "You really were my knight
in black leather, weren't you?"

"When you let me, yeah. But I still don't get what you're saying
about my sense of humor."

"When you're funny, it's a lot more subtle than when Angel or
Xander were funny. You're faster, more deadly. You come up with wise things
in a smart-assed way. Like telling Angel and me that maybe you're love's bitch,
but you're man enough to admit it. I mean, where did that come from at the
end of that speech about love being blood not brains?"

"Just say what I feel, Slayer."

"Well, what you say can be lethal. I know I'm explaining this
badly. But I didn't get it until just now."

Spike grimaced. "I think maybe you've been watching The Three
Stooges all of your life, Slayer. Maybe you've grown up enough to recognize
satire when you hear it." He shrugged. "Or at least Monty Python."

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Really not. You've just paid me a very nice compliment. Have
to admit I don't see what it has to do with my terrorizing the tourists."

"You were playing with the tourists, not terrorizing them,"
Buffy proclaimed. "Just like you were playing with my sister when you told
her stories in your crypt. You weren't being malevolent, you wanted Dawn's
attention. To make her shiver. You weren't reliving the crunch with her anymore
than you were reliving the crunch with Alison."

Spike regarded her solemnly but didn't say anything, so Buffy
went on.

"What freaked me out today is that you made it real. I wasn't
ready for that. But you only used words to do it. Soul or no soul, you could
have locked those tourists inside and demonstrated what those torture thingies
can do in a much more intimate way. You chose to tell a ghost story instead."

He was still staring at her.

Buffy squirmed. "I told you I'd be thinking out loud. Am I wrong?"

"No, pet. But I've got something important to say, and I want
you to think about it."

She braced herself for the worst. "What?"

"Alison and her family weren't ripped to pieces by vampires
or other demons. Her own kind put her through it. Men who had the blessings
of their god and their government. Men who were dead inside."

Buffy blinked. "Oh, Spike. I didn't think of that."

"If I could make you and the others feel for Alison and her
own, it's because Angelus did things like that to me in the early years. I
learned to kill at his side, but I did it clean. I've been a monster, Buffy.
I still am. I captured children for Dru when she wanted to feed, but I never
tortured them. I'm not into the pre-show, never have been and never will be."

She rubbed his thigh, soothing. "I know you're not like that."

Taking her by the shoulders, Spike dug in his fingers hard enough
to bruise.

"Will you listen to yourself!" He shook her a little. "Don't
do this, Buffy, don't discount it. Don't forget there are still monsters out
there, and don't whitewash what I've done. Don't ever make that mistake."

"I don't." Her hands came up to clasp his arms. "But you shouldn't
forget that I train new slayers every day and kill some of those demons every
week. But you changed, Spike. And then you died and I missed you so
badly, it hurt to keep breathing. Even though you've been evil, you've showed
me over and over that you're a good man. That's what I remember first."

"No matter how much I change, it undo what I've done. All I
can do is stop hurting people and go forward. Make a difference now.
Make the right choices today and tomorrow and tomorrow. Anything you see that's
good in me, you put it there. But I'm still a monster. Still a vampire. I
may not have hurt Alison, but there were others I hurt. I made a lot of people
scream and there was so much blood--"

"You'd never hurt them now, and that's what matters."

"That won't bring back Alison or her family."

Buffy shook her head. "You're not responsible for them, but
you were responsible for Dawn the summer I was gone. You loved her and took
care of her, you bought her ice cream and made her smile. Before I died and
after I came back, you were careful and tender and you made my life a lot
easier on the hellmouth. Your training helped us survive the First."

"Doesn't matter," he growled and pushed her hands away, made
to rise from the bench.

"It does matter." She yanked him back, and while the vampire
didn't pull away again, he didn't sit back down either. "Just this week, I've
been using your lessons to train the new slayers. You're still helping to
keep people alive, help the slayers battle the demons."

She struggled to get the words out past the lump in her throat.
"I know you've been an evil vampire, I was there for some of it. You've also
saved the world three times that I know of, and I was there for two of those."

Dropping back his head, Spike bunched his fingers into fists.
"You're crying again, I can smell the tears. Not worth a Slayer's tears."

"You want to make a date with Vi and Rona and watch them kick
your ass for saying that? They cried when you didn't make it out of the hellmouth.
You matter to a hell of a lot more people than you realize, and they're still
missing you. So stop being broody hair-gel guy number two and sit down." She
swiped the wetness from her cheek with one hand and yanked on his duster with
the other. "Don't make me rip this."

Spike sat down. "You know I'm going to be bad and rude again
in the future. Can't help it. It's what I do."

"So?" Buffy scrambled for a tissue and blew her nose. "I've
called you a pig and will again. Maybe you never knew my favorite toy from
childhood was a pig."

"So all those times I thought you were insulting me, you really
weren't?"

"I was too. Just not as badly as you thought." Sniffing delicately,
she drew a deep breath. "Look, I know you're never going to be the civilized-Giles
type. I don't want or need you to be. Just be yourself while I try to get
some perspective and stop freaking every time you tell a ghost story. It's
my problem, not yours. I need to deal with it."

"We'll deal together," Spike insisted, checking that Buffy's
fingers were dry before capturing her hand and holding tight. "My turn to
talk now since you made me sit back down. You up for that?"

Buffy nodded. "Whatever you want."

CHAPTER THREE

"I want to talk about this resouled vampire thing," said Spike.
"When you started writing me letters, you thought I was in hell, out of reach.
I think you idealized the dead me. Now you've got to throw out the white-knight
version of me in your head that saved the world and burned up. You follow?"

"I'm not sure I agree," Buffy said cautiously.

"Hear me out 'til the end. In that dungeon today, I think you
saw I'm not a white knight, 'cause one of those wouldn't have twisted up your
insides about Alison. No, wait." Spike put up a cautionary hand as Buffy began
protesting. All I'm saying is you're remembering the good things about Sunnydale
and me while forgetting the bad."

"I love you," she said through gritted teeth. "Are you
going to say that I don't again?"

"No." Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. "What
did you miss of me, and who am I really?"

She threw him a look reminiscent of confused-Joyce. "What huh?"

"Who am I now that I have a soul?" Spike pursued.

"You're the man that I love."

"No, Buffy. I'm a vampire with a soul who's trying to be a man.
If I can. Do you love me, or do you love what I did for you back in
the hellmouth?"

She gasped. "How can you even ask me that?"

"Have to ask because you said the best night of my life--that
night you let me help and hold you--it didn't mean anything. You weren't ready
to see me gone, but that didn't mean you wanted me to stay."

"I want you to stay now," she said quietly.

"Where, Buffy?"

"Please don't do this."

"Don't do what, Slayer? Don't ask the tough questions? Don't
look for the answers we can both live with?"

"I understand that you...we...need time to adjust to your having
a soul. That you need to find out who you are. I want to be there for you.
I want us to be together whether we're here in London or in Bath or in Timbuktu.
I don't care."

He peered across the Tower green where the shadows were growing
longer. "You know, Slayer, doesn't matter how many times we've had sex or
fought side by side or whatever. You and I together is something that's
never been."

He thought she started to reach out to him, but instead Buffy
slid her hands beneath her to sit on them. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that being together is your telling Rupert and your
friends that we're together. It means committing to each other, Buffy.
And that...that's—" Giving a sad smile, he muttered, "It's somewhere we've
never gone."

"But we're there now," she protested, her chin trembling. "I'm
beside you right now, and I want to be with you. So what am I doing wrong?"

Ducking her head, she swiped at the wetness. "I didn't used
to cry all the damn time. What do you mean when you say we've never been together,
and could you please hold me while you tell me?"

"Come here, pet." He settled her across his lap with her legs
stretched out on the bench and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Don't
think we've sat like this since we were engaged under Red's spell."

"Bad us," she whispered, burrowing against him.

He kissed her forehead. "You and me, in the way you're wanting
us to be now, hasn't ever been. Always did need me fighting and protecting
the ones you love, but beyond that you haven't had much use for me. So now
you say that you want to give us a try. I can still fight, but I don't know
what else I can do. I'm trying to suss out who and what I am, now I've got
my soul back. Am I a man or a demon or both, Buffy? Need to find out for both
our sakes."

She nodded and watched him closely as though memorizing his
every word. Guess my staring at her doesn't bother her now.

"We're outside the hellmouth now," Spike continued. "No ghoulies
to distract us. No sisters to baby-sit and no slayerettes to train. It's going
to be just you and me, if I'm reading this the way you want it?"

"Yes." She sounded determined.

"So we'll try us being together. Be just Buffy and whoever I
end up being. We'll go slow and careful, get to know each other and see if
we can stand each other. If we're each of us what the other wants."

"I can live with that." She snuggled against him with a relieved
sigh. Her stomach rumbled, and Spike dared lay a hand across it.

"You hungry, pet?"

"Maybe a little. But I don't want to move. Am too comfy to move."

"No need." Sliding his arm beneath her, Spike rose with Buffy
in his arms. Cradling her securely against him, he started off across the
grass and gained the stone path.

"Spike!" The Slayer yelped. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying you off for a bit of kip." Spike headed with all haste
toward the placard announcing the New Armouries Restaurant. "Never had restaurants
in the Tower when I was here last."

Ignoring the gawkers as they crossed the green, Buffy wound
her arms around his neck and nibbled his head. Spike shivered.

"Here now. No distracting the transportation."

She giggled and hugged tightly. "I hesitate to ask when you
were here last."

"Summer of 1879, I think it was."

Shoving open the restaurant door with his shoulder, Spike set
Buffy carefully on her feet just inside the entry. "There you are. Safe and
sound and look—there's a hot meal and tea waiting for us."

She glanced at the food only to turn back and throw her arms
around his waist. Rocking back, Spike caught her hard and tried to take an
unnecessary breath, only to discover that he was being held so tightly that
breathing was impossible. "Here now, what's this?"

"Thank you for carrying me," she murmured against his chest,
ignoring the tourists pushing past them in the small entry. "No matter what
you say, I still think you're my white knight in black leather."

~ ~ ~

Buffy carried bits of leftover roast beef from her sandwich
out of the restaurant and paused to peer up at the afternoon sky.

"No sun yet, and there are lots of clouds," she noted happily
to the vampire sidling up beside her. "Do you think the Beefeaters will mind
if I try to feed their ravens?"

"Won't mind. But you might when they start ripping off the tips
of your fingers during snack-time. Be better off tossing the treats onto the
grass and watching what happens."

"They're birds, Spike. Not sharks." With that, Buffy headed
down the pavement and back to the iron bench she'd started thinking of as
theirs. Nestled safely in shadow, it welcomed both vampire and Slayer once
more. She spread her offerings on the far right side of the of the bench while
Spike claimed his seat and looked on, amusement and contentment dancing in
his eyes. Leaning against the vampire, Buffy waited.

"Here, birdy-birdy," she sang. "Are you sure they like roast
beef?"

"They're carnivores on the wing, Slayer. Like anything long
as it's not rotten."

She turned slightly toward him. "So, are we all talked out?
Whoa." A black blur was flapping madly toward them across the green. "It's
working!"

"Always did say be careful what you wish for, Slayer."

Buffy leaned harder against Spike and narrowly missed getting
her nose thwacked by a wing as the raven hopped up onto the arm of the bench.
Perched only a few inches away from her elbow, it looked from the roast beef
to the Slayer, bird mantled its wings and opened its beak.

"Is he threatening to peck out my eyes?"

"Hardly. You're alive, not his type. Looks like a young bird,
he's begging to be fed." Reaching across the Slayer, the vampire took up a
piece of meat and held it over the raven's head. "Better I get bitten than
you."

"The big black bird bites the big bad bitey vampire. Neat."

In the end, all Spike had to do was drop each offering inside
the raven's open beak. "There you go, Blackie. You want to feed him the last
bits?"

"No."

"Mighty Slayer will take on the armies of hell, but is afraid
of a little raven?"

"He's got a very sharp beak and claws."

"I've got some very sharp fangs and a wicked wit. Never stopped
you." Spike continued feeding the raven until all the roast beef was gone.
Gathering up the napkin, he shoved it into his pocket. "Don't need to eat
that."

The bird cleaned its beak on the arm of the bench and began
preening its feathers.

"See now, he's making himself more presentable for you," said
Spike. "Hand over your cell phone and let me take a picture. Send it off to
Dawn, show her where you've been."

"Um, okay." Carefully, so as not to startle the bird, Buffy
dug out her phone. "Good luck with the picture thing, it doesn't take very
good ones. He'll probably fly away before you can do much."

"He'll
stay to say thank you, won't you, mate?" Slipping off of the bench, Spike
retreated a few feet before snapping off a picture. "Don't usually get to
see them this up close and personal."

Almost on cue, the bird pulled out and discarded a glossy tail
feather that floated toward Buffy. Reaching out, she caught it.

"Spike...Did you see that?" The feather rested across her hands.

"I did, pet. Got some shots of it, too."

Another raven called from across the green and Buffy's bird
answered. Gifts and goodies exchanged, it flapped down onto the grass and
headed past Spike.

Buffy stroked the still-warm feather. "Do you think he meant
for me to have this?"

"Looks like." Closing the phone after taking a few more pictures
of his Slayer, Spike sat back down on the bench.

She handed the feather to him. "You want to hold it?"

"Sure."

Taking back her cell phone, Buffy keyed through the photos.
"My phone must like you because these are great. Which one should I send to
Dawn?"

"That one."

She sent it off and tucked the phone back into her purse.

"You know, from ancient times ravens were thought to fly between
the seen and unseen worlds. Between the darkness and the light," Spike commented,
stroking the sleek, black feather. "They symbolize creation too, and you've
come to England to create a new life."

Reaching up, she stroked his hair and kissed his cheek. "I think
the raven gave his feather to both of us, because you've been walking with
me there for years. And we're creating a new life together."

"I like the sound of that." Turning his head, he kissed her
wrist. "You ready to leave the Tower, pet?"

"Yeah." Taking his hand, she let him pull her up from the bench.
"Where are we going next?"

He thought for a moment as they headed for the exit. "British
Museum, I think. Not enough time to see everything today, you'd need a week
for that. Enough time for a couple of manuscripts and the mummies, maybe."

"Ooooh, sounds like fun. As long as the mummies don't try to
strangle the odd Slayer."

"You're certainly that."

"Hey!" She shoved against him so that he staggered, taking her
with him. Somehow, his arm ended up around her waist.

"Do you really think we can create a new life here? We won't
have to go to Outer Mongolia or something?"

"If you can still stand me after my bloody little performance."
Spike nodded back toward the torture exhibit.

"Everybody needs a hobby. It's not as if you locked them in
and drained them one by one."

He tilted his head and regarded her for a long moment. "Had
to be strange going through that with me. I mean, vampire and all. Nothing
normal about me, you know? Or about what I did to those tourists."

"I think you did fine, you gave them the shivers." She traced
his mouth with the feather. "Angel left Sunnydale because he wanted me to
have a normal life. But a slayer can't have normal any more than you can.
I don't want normal anyway. I want you--minus the caspie-claws and the thumbikins,
if that's okay?"

"Did you come here often as a child?" Buffy asked as she and Spike
passed through the massive Greek columns guarding the entrance to the British
Museum.

"'Course. We all did."

Their voices echoed in the cavernous entry, along with every other whisper
and movement by the assortment of people milling about. Buffy turned in place,
feeling more than a little overwhelmed at huge marble foyer with its corridors
leading deeper into the historical behemoth.

"This place is huge." Buffy turned in place. "Where do we
start?"

"Here." Taking her hand, Spike strode over to the information desk
to plonk down a handful of money. "Need a guidebook."

"Six pounds, please."

"Six POUNDS?" The vampire growled and added more bank notes. "Was
only a few pence back in the day."

The girl at the counter offered a polite smile, took the money, and slid
a thin volume toward the vampire. "Enjoy your visit, sir."

"We'll be sure to do that, yeah."

Spike stalked away from the desk with Buffy following in his wake. Well away
from the foot traffic, he leaned against the stone wall and began leafing
through the guide.

"So here's a map to this floor and the collections they've got."
Oblivious of his companion's poetic mental comparisons, Spike flipped the
guidebook's pages so fast that Buffy couldn't see anything. "Haven't
been back here in over a hundred years, so my memory's rusty about where the
good stuff is."

"You think?"

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, missy."

"What? I'm all ears. Really."

"Hmph." Spike flipped more pages. "You've got Ancient Greece
and Egypt upstairs. Both exhibits spill over to this floor, keeping company
with your part of the world." He turned a map on its side and squinted
at it. "Cor, could spend a week in here and not see everything. No idea
where to take you first. 'Cause visiting the British Museum? Unless you've
got the luxury of popping in regularly, it's an exercise in prioritization."

"Is that what the guidebook says?"

"Yeah."

"I thought it didn't sound like you. Let's see..." She rubbed her
nose. "Since we're the original apocalyptic couple, let's pretend all
of London is about to be destroyed."

"Bite your tongue!" He sounded truly horrified.

"Nope. That's the way it is, Spike. Youve got a magic wand and
can save just one room in here, so what would you save?"

"Too easy." He grabbed her hand. "Come on."

Spike hustled Buffy further into the museum, moving so quickly that the slayer
was hard-pressed to keep up with him. They shot through a narrow corridor
opening onto a huge rectangular courtyard, and Spike stopped so abruptly that
Buffy nearly crashed into his back.

"What's with the vampire speed and hard stops all of a sudden?"

"You're standing in the Great Court. And that" He nodded
at a huge round building dominating the middle of the court. "That's
the Reading Room."

She looked at the people strolling casually up the steps. "So? Nobody
else is in a hurry."

"So, it's a library." Spike pulled her toward the stairs running
up the side of the building. "Like your Library of Congress, only better."

"Uh-huh." Buffy tried to sound impressed. "So there are lots
of books in there?"

"Three bookcases deep, all round the room."

"That's not a lot, Spike."

"The rest are in warehouses round the courtyard."

"I don't see any warehouses," Buffy protested. "I see a couple
of café s and oh, look! There's shopping!" She yanked Spike's
hand to redirect him, to no avail.

"Shop later. When you want a book, it's brought from warehouses you
don't see. Come on. Want to show you." He began hauling her up the rounded
stairway.

"I don't get why you're showing me books when we could be looking at
pretty trinkets. Buffy and books, not mixy. But hey, we should call Willow!
She likes books."

Ignoring Buffy's protests, Spike pushed through the heavy doors only to stop
abruptly on the other side. Coming up beside him, Buffy saw the vampire drop
back his head to stare up at the ceiling.

"Look at that, they've restored it."

"Restored what? And hey, where are the mummies? Aren't there supposed
to be mummies in this place?"

"Look at that ceiling, it's papier mache, pet. Delicate like."
Gazing around the room, Spike flared his nostrils. "Smells different
than it did. You know those reading tables over there are older than me?"

"That's... um... really fascinating. I didn't know you liked books that
much." Buffy lagged behind while Spike wandered farther into the room.
"Are you sure you don't want to go see the mummies?"

"Where's the card catalog gone?" Spike demanded.

A young man behind the front desk greeted them. "Welcome to the information
center. How may I assist you?"

"Where is the card catalog?" Spike repeated.

"It was removed, sir. The Great Court and Reading Room have been restored,
and we replaced the books."

"With what, may I ask, did you replace them?" Spike's tone held
clipped menace as he approached the desk.

"Our Reading Room now houses the Paul Hamlyn Library. We have twenty-five
thousand books, catalogues and other printed material focusing on the world
cultures represented in the British Museum."

"Bugger." Spike's jaw clenched.

"Let me show you how it works." The attendant gestured at his computer.
"This is our new object database. Simply touch the screen to find information
on five thousand objects from museum collections. We have links between objects,
background information, and suggestions for further reading."

"How fascinating." Spike's expression and low growl told Buffy
he was anything but fascinated. "What the bloody hell did you do with
all the books?"

Shrugging off her hand, Spike loomed over the counter. "The bloody Reading
Room is a British institution, you nit. You can't up and move it like a bunch
of kiddie books thrown out of the nursery once the babe is half-grown!"

"The collections were not thrown out, sir. St. Pancras is a much larger,
more modern and comfortable facility for our patrons."

The attendant's eyes widened as Spike's eyes went yellow. Shifting into game
face, the vampire snarled and lunged across the counter. Shrieking, the young
man leaped back against the placards introducing his new, shiny information
system and cringed when they tumbled to the floor.

"Get back here!" Spike leaped onto the information desk.

"You're bleeding mad, mate!" squeaked the clerk.

"I'll rip out your scrawny throat, I will!"

"Okay, that's it." Gathering two handfuls of leather duster, Buffy
yanked . Hard. Spike slid toward her like a great cat crouched on a kitchen
counter. "Get down from there, and leave the poor guy alone."

"He stole my books!"

She yanked harder and overbalanced the vampire, who had no choice but to
jump backward off of the counter. Spike's boots thudded on the thin carpeting.
Lifting his lip, he snarled again. Grabbing Spike's jaw, Buffy turned his
face toward her.

"Chill out," she ordered. "Now. He did not steal your books,
they've just been moved."

The vampire growled softly, but complied, letting his features melt back
into their human mask.

Buffy smiled kindly at the attendant who was shivering so hard, his teeth
were chattering. "I'm sorry, where did you say they've been moved to?"

"S-St. Pancras. In Euston Street. Easily found." Whirling, the
attendant retrieved a piece of paper and held it out with violently shaking
fingers. "We have maps. You could be there in a matter of minutes."

Spike reached past Buffy to snatch the paper.

Sliding in between the vampire and the clerk, Buffy shoved her weight back
against Spike to begin forcing him toward the door.

Buffy ignored the terrified looks of the other patrons and whirled to grab
Spike by the lapels of his duster. "You've got your map? Let's go."

She hustled the unresisting vampire out of the Reading Room, down the clean
marble steps, and toward the canopied terrace of the nearest café.

"I swear I'm trying to be patient with you," Buffy railed, "but
stuff like this makes it really hard. Now sit." Shoving him into the
nearest chair, she flung herself into the one next to it. "And behave.
No more bellowing, no more flashy fangs."

"Buffy"

"You shut up and listen to me. You know this sort of erratic vamp behavior
pisses me off. After you died, you weren't there to piss me off, and the silence
was horrible. I'm really thankful to have you back to piss me off, and I'm
willing to cut us both some slack for what we've been through, but that doesn't
mean I'm going to let you frighten people for no good reason."

His sidelong glance was sullen. "Had a reason."

"Good. You can tell me about it after you cool off."

She ordered a pot of tea while Spike spread out his crumpled map and concentrated
on uncrumpling it. Clearly distressed, the vampire ran a hand through his
hair, which mussed the straight-gelled strands into curly disarray.

She could have sworn she saw tears shimmering in the vampire's eyes before
he gulped down the hot tea.

"Do you want a refill?"

"Yes. Thank you," Spike added as a seeming afterthought. He stared
at the mangled map to St. Pancras.

Taking the vampire's hand, Buffy wound her fingers through his. He didn't
resist, but he didn't respond either.

"Can you tell me what happened back there?" she prodded gently.
"I've seen you spin out, but never over a bunch of books."

"Never before seen the William-git part of me throw a tantrum, have
you?" He sounded miserable.

"Didn't I meet the William part of you back in Sunnydale?" she
asked carefully, still holding his fingers. "In the high school basement?"

"Met the souled part of me, yeah. Was barking mad then, with the Victorian
guilt and moral conscience shoved back in to live alongside the memories of
what I'd done for over a hundred years. Never mind what the First was doing."
He shook his head ruefully.

"Don't know what stranger-soul Angelus got shoved inside of him, but
the demon in Africa made sure I got what I went for. Got my own back, so what
you saw a few minutes ago was all William. All souled up and ready to fight
for what's his, even when it's not. Original William wanted to beat up on
stupid people, but he resisted doing that like a good little gent and ran
away from a fight. Don't have that problem now, do I? Right embarrassing wanker
when I want to be." Spike looked away. "Sorry you had to see that."

Buffy watched him tighten his jaw so that his cheeks hollowed even more.
The vampire was breathing erratically as though he was still struggling to
force down his emotions.

"Are you saying the demon and the man are two different beings? Two
different people are inside of you?"

"I'm saying when I was turned, it's as if my own soul left and a demon's
guilt-free soul walked in. I was still me, still William, just left behind
my morality."

"But Giles told me"

"Sod what he said." Pulling his hand away, Spike locked gazes with
Buffy. "Never been turned, has your watcher? Doesn't know what it feels
like 'cause he's never lived through it, has he? I know what losing my soul
felt like. Know what it felt like to get it back, too. Know the weight of
every wrong I did since Dru turned me. Haven't behaved like a proper demon
since before Sunnydale sank, and I don't want to now. Not hurting anybody
anymore, am I? Not interested, not even tempted."

Buffy gave a slight smile. "Not still evil?"

The vampire scowled. "Could if I wanted, same as anybody with a soul.
Just don't want to. Get up every morning and say to myself, 'Not going to
eat anybody today," and I stick to it. More than can be said for a lot
of humans out there. This museum is full of relics from those sorts of people."

"So you went to Africa specifically to get back your own soul?"

"Yeah." He played with his spoon.

Buffy sat silent for a long moment before asking, "Would you let the
William part of you tell me why you're upset that a bunch of books got moved?"

"Just am, all right?"

"Please, tell me? Let me in?" she wheedled. "If we're going
to be together, I need to understand why you feel the way you do about things."

The vampire's blue eyes softened, and she knew however unfair it was to appeal
to 'the William-git,' that part of Spike couldn't deny her. No matter what
she might ask, if it was within Spike's power, he'd grant it.

It would be so easy to abuse that, she realized.

"Bloody hell." Closing his eyes, Spike considered. "It's not
just a bunch of books, Buffy. Reading Room's a national treasure. Has every
publication in the UK and Ireland and more. Millions of things, like DaVinci's
personal sketchbook and Mozart's musical diary. William Blake's notebook"

"Oh, I know him," Buffy interrupted. "He's the one who wrote
'The Tyger.' I read that before I had to drop out of my poetry class in college.
It was so beautiful and terrible, it made me wonder why there's bloodshed
and pain and horror in the world."

Spike cocked his head. "Figured out the answer yet?"

"I don't think there is an answer."

"Got that right. When I read 'The Tyger,' I wanted to know more about
William Blake. So I carried myself off to the Reading Room, and you know what
I discovered?" Spike leaned forward as if about to impart a secret hidden
in the mists of time.

"What?"

""Blake was a real radical, both politically and philosophically.
He and his wife practiced nudism in a friend's garden. You know the sort'It's
all right, we'll just pretend we're Adam and Eve.' Nothing extreme about that
now, but it was immoral behavior back then. Then he got himself tried for
treason after saying something like, 'You bloody soldiers of the god-damned
king, I hope Napoleon kills the lot of you,' while throwing a drunken soldier
out of his own garden."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Are you making this up?"

"No more than I made up the stuff in the Tower. Story gets even better
because Blake used to see visions and hear voices. His notebook's got the
sketches he made of the famous people who visited him. Everyone and every
thing in this world's a story, Slayer, and the Reading Room was full of 'em."

"That's why you're upset to have it moved?"

"Yeah. Bit of a shock, you know, havin' a universe move on you?"
Sitting back, Spike sipped his cold tea. "I was eight when my da brought
me here for the first time. The whole place was musty and scholarly and just...neat.
The tables were crowded, the room was a shabby sanctuary used by philosophers
and conspirators. Dreamers, writers and eccentrics."

"Which one were you?" Buffy asked, genuinely curious.

"Thought I was all of them at different times. Know I was none of them
now." Spike glanced around the Great Court. "Look what they've done
to the place, Slayer. Cleared it out to put in theatres and exhibit halls.
Don't even have to go into the museum proper to explore things, you can shop
and eat when the museum's closed."

"Got lots of space to entertain London's movers and shakers, don't they?"
Spike continued. "Give 'em the best champagne and canapés. Get
a taste of art free, and go into the Reading Room to admire its fancy computer.
Don't read a thing, just look at the pictures on the magic screen."

"What's wrong with all of that?" Buffy asked.

"What's the point in entertainment without scholarship? There's no depth,
is there? It's all empty."

She leaned forward, her chin in her hand. "I never knew part of you
was such a snob when it comes to books and art."

His blue eyes were sad and Buffy shivered, feeling as though the vampire
had been left behind, and she was seeing pure William in the moment. Reaching
out, she stroked his cheek.

"You're amazing," she whispered.

"How's that?"

"Somewhere inside of you is an obstinate, opinionated Victorian gentleman
who survived being turned into a vampire and having mad Dru as your sire and
Angelus and Darla as your elders. You fought and won against two slayers,
and stayed with your crazy girlfriend for over a hundred years. You survived
having a chip shoved inside your head and not being able to eat people. You
cared about my Mom and took care of Dawn, and endured being tortured by a
hell-god and the First. You changed for me and got your soul and survived
being burning up in Sunnydale's hellmouth. A few weeks ago, you thumbed your
nose at a demon army sent against Angel, and now you're freaking because your
books have been moved."

Spike shrugged. "We all have our breaking points, love."

"You werent upset with the new restaurants in the Tower of London,
so why are you upset with the ones here?"

He scowled fiercely. "Those other restaurants didn't replace friends
of mine, did they? Know better than most people that everything changes. Had
to change along with everything to survive, didn't I? But the Reading Room'd
been there since before I was born. Thought it would always be there."

"It's still there. It's just been relocated." Smiling, she ran
her fingers through his scattered curls. "We could go there now, if you
like?"

Spike thought for a moment before shaking his head. Getting to his feet,
he held out his hand. "Am over my fit for now, and there's a fair lot
of other stuffother stories--to show you."

CHAPTER FIVE

Spike ushered her into the empty elevator, trailed his finger over the buttons
and punched one. "There."

"How did you do that?" Buffy questioned, still holding onto his
free hand.

He blinked down at her. "How'd I do what? Walk across the courtyard
to summon the lift?"

"No, you pig." She punched him lightly in the arm and softened
the blow with a smile. "You just came to terms with losing your Reading
Room. How did you do it?"

He shrugged. "Same way I came to terms with getting turned and meeting
Angelus, getting a soul and burning up, and everything in between, around
it and nearby. Nothing special, Slayer."

"It is special. You're not like other vampires."

"'Course not." Spike looked outraged at the thought he might be.

"I can really tell the difference between the master vamp I met years
ago behind the Bronze, and who you are today. At the same time, you just told
me there are parts of you that haven't really changed since the night you
were turned. So how did you decide what to change?"

Spike looked sheepish and leaned back against the elevator wall. "Don't
rightly know. Just take it moment by moment and do what I've had to do to
survive. Then move on to the next moment. Like I said, it's nothing special.
Eastern philosophers have been doing it for millennia. Here's our floor."

Buffy dogged the vampire as they moved into a hallway. "Do you think
you're different from other vamps because the William part of you never left?"

"Don't know , pet. Before I came to love you, the Judge said I reeked
of humanity. The human part of me might have had something to do with that."
Consulting his museum guide, Spike wandered erratically down the echoing corridors,
peering at this exhibit placard and that. "What we want's down this way.
Can't show you my books, but I'm going to show you something of writing."

Turning into a small alcove, Spike reached back to catch Buffy's hand and
pulled her close beside him.

Buffy peered at a small brass placard proclaiming, The Vindolanda Tablets.
"That's nice. What am I looking at?"

"The oldest surviving handwritten documents in all of Britain."

"Great." Turning from the exhibit, Buffy leaned up against her
companion. Pouting, she trailed her fingers across his chest. "Spike...
aren't there any nice diamonds or sapphires to look at? I really liked seeing
the Crown Jewels."

"Did you, now?" Smirking, the vampire slid his hands beneath Buffy's
shirt and across her back. Nibbling on her ear, he murmured. "Told you,
Slayer, everything in life tells a story whether you're aware of it or not.
Your jewels and these tablets, they all got a tale to tell."

"And what might that tale be?" He could always hold
her with just his voice. He'd done so from the moment he'd said he wanted
to save the world and not just for the happy meals with legs.

Spike turned Buffy gently around before pulling her hard against
him and nuzzling his nose against the back of her neck. The slow patterns
his cool fingers were tracing on the Slayer's belly also helped hold her attention.

"Vindolanda in Northumberland is where these tablets were
found." His cool breath tickled her hair. "They're from Roman Britain,
late first or second century."

Buffy laughed against his mouth, loving the way his teeth were trying to
nip at her. "You are so full of it, Spike."

"Full and hard. Always am, where you're concerned." His erection
pressed against her buttocks. He began rocking gently against her.

"You are so not getting off on me inside a dark little alcove in a very
stuffy museum." Buffy's amused tone took any sting out of her words.
Turning, she held Spike's face in her hand. Savoring the hard line of his
cheekbone and the desire in his eyes, she kissed him again. "Keep it
for later when we can both savor the moment, okay?"

Still moving against her, he turned on the pout. "I'll be hard and aching
with it for hours."

"And I know you'll enjoy it." Smirking, she turned back to the
display. "Tell me more about these violina things."

"Tablets. Right." Nestling her against him just so, Spike resumed
his scholarly lecture. "They found a lot of 'em with a lot of different
handwriting. Adds to people's knowledge of Roman cursive writing from the
first century."

"Why is that important?"

"I'm not quite sure." His voice dropped to a purr. "God, but
you're warm. The warmer you get, the stronger I can scent you. Goes right
to my head. Both of them."

His nose was in her ear. She felt him open his mouth and gasped, wondering
if he'd gone all fangs a moment before the tip of his tongue flicked behind
her ear and he tasted her.

Spike moaned  a sound coming from deep inside him while his hands began
shaking as they held her. "Gods, Slayer. You've no idea...."

Dropping her head back against his chest, Buffy reached back to grip the
outside of Spike's thighs.

She moved against his fingers and began panting in rhythm with his touch.
"Oh, god. Don't stop."

Pushing his nose against her cheek, Spike directed Buffy's attention to the
shadowed recess behind the tablets they were supposed to be studying. "You
think maybe someone's watching us? Some pathetic git of a guard's at some
computer screen? Watching me pleasure you in this little room?"

The thought that someone might be watching them set her aflame, and his fingers
were on the move again to drive the flames higher. Gripping his thighs harder,
Buffy whimpered and writhed.

Spike nuzzled her neck and raked his teeth over her bare throat. "Still
want me to stop, pet?"

Buffy could only gasp as his fingers were busy between her legs again.

"The tablets are wafer...thin...slices...of wood." Spike punctuated
each word by nipping Buffy's neck as he pushed his fingers deeper inside her.
"The Romans used carbon ink and...quill-like...pens. Sharp. And hard.
So beautiful...."

Buffy arched and gave a soft cry.

"There's my girl. So desperate, and so close. You like the story I'm
telling?"

Footsteps pounded just beyond their alcove, headed straight for it. The Slayer
leaped away from her vampire half a moment before a boy rounded the corner.
Skidding into the steel and glass display case, he stared up at the dimly
lit tablets.

"What's this, mum?" he shouted, oblivious of the Slayer shuddering
and panting so frantically behind him, of the man beside her whose eyes had
gone amber.

"I don't know, Ronnie," a female voice called from outside the
alcove. Paper rustled. "Oh, blast. This map is impossible to read."

Spike growled softly, and the boy whipped his head around. Bones shifted,
bumpies appeared. A lip lifted and a fang was revealed as the growl grew louder.

Giving a screech, the boy bolted from the room. "Mummy, there's a wolf
in there!"

"What are you on about? The wolves aren't on this floor. Stop darting
about and stay with me. You want to see the mummies, don't you?"

"The wolf has glowy eyes and fangs and he growled me!"

"I think I've got this map sorted now, Ronnie. Come along."

"But Mama"

"Stop yakking and come on!"

The boy pelted after his mother whose footsteps receded down the hall. Buffy
whirled and stared up at Spike whose eyes flashed gold as he looked sheepishly
down at her.

"Did you go all game-face on that child?"

"Er... Sorry 'bout that, Slayer."

The next moment, Buffy began giggling.

"Here now." Spike scowled. "You off your trolley, or are you
laughin' at me?"

He snorted, but returned her hug. "Ongoing soap opera's more like it."

"I told you we needed to wait." Reaching up on tiptoe, Buffy kissed
him lightly.

"Hate it when you're right." He was still scowling. "I wanted--"

"I know what you wanted. We'll share later, I promise. In private."
She kissed him again.

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and kiss my big toe, Spike."

There was the suggestive leer Buffy had missed earlier, complete with that
long tongue caught between neat white teeth. "Gonna kiss a lot more than
your big toe, Slayer."

Be still, my frantic-beating heart, she thought, but it's nice to know the
Spike I fell in lust and love with is still in there.

The next minute the tongue retreated, the blonde head hair tilted, and those
blue eyes softened.

"Buffy...You do know that I love as well I want you?" he murmured.
"If I'm pushing or going too fast, you have only to say so, and I'll"

"I'm not saying a thing," she interrupted, laying a finger across
his lips. "That is, I mean you're perfect. Exactly right for me."

"Perfect, am I?" The suggestive leer was back.

"Ego much, mister?" She blushed to remember begging for his touch
and practically falling at his feet in a puddle of need. "I don't really
think you could go too fast for me now. But you said earlier that we've never
really been together, and that we should go slow, so...."

"Did say that, didn't I? Always knew I could be a bit dim." He
nodded at the Vindolanda display behind her. "You seen enough of that,
Slayer? Ready to move on?"

"Definitely." She linked her arm through his. "Where did you
say those mummies are hiding?"

CHAPTER SIX

"So now you've seen the Lindisfarne Gospels and the sole surviving copy of Beowulf—" Spike ticked them off on his fingers.

"And I knew what Beowulf was 'cause we studied it at SunnyD U--go me. Now, about those mummies you keep putting off--"

"Going there now, aren't we?" Scowling down at her, Spike grabbed Buffy's hand to pull her down yet another corridor. Every time I do that, he reflected, I expect she'll up and hit me for hauling her about.

"I don't know where we're going. You're the one with the map." Buffy made a snatch for it.

"Mummies are right down there." He gestured with the museum map, coincidentally keeping it out of reach. Again. Spike grinned to himself as the slayer at his side took a deep breath and visibly made herself back down from the irritating challenge Spike offered.

"Did you see the mummies when you were a kid?"

Spike snorted. "That's all I ever wanted to see. "

Buffy linked her arm in his. "But did you actually see them, or do you just remember William seeing them?"

"Thought we covered that earlier, Slayer? One and the same, aren't we?"

"I don't know." She chewed on her lip. "I mean, both my watchers said the soul and all its memories leave a host body when it's turned, and the demon moves in. They said you get only shadow memories of the original host."

"Might be the case with other vamps. Wasn't with me." Turning abruptly, Spike yanked Buffy through a doorway. "Room 62, Early Egypt. This way."

He stopped so abruptly just inside the room that he knew Buffy could probably feel the tendons in her shoulder strain. Tightening his grip on her hand, the vampire surveyed the room. "Will you look at that?"

Spike threw his arms wide "They've totally redone these rooms. It was jam-packed before. Dark and spooky, too, with mummies displayed four to a case, stacked warehouse-style."

"Your kind of place, huh?"

"Well, yeah. At ten, I knew they rose up at night."

Buffy wandered toward the first exhibits set around the perimeter of the room. "So you had fun scaring yourself until you become one of the things that goes bump in the night?"

"Well, yeah. But the mummies helped with that too. My da read about some of them arriving, so he took me along to see them. Guess I was about six, and he got whaled on by my mum afterwards. 'You took your son to see a body!' She was scandalized, but I thought the bloke looked quite peaceful and nicely tanned lying in the sand. My da and the mummies taught me it was all right to be dead."

"Wow. No wonder you adjusted so well to becoming a vamp." She peered at a display. "So, what are we looking at?"

"You can read the sodding description, Slayer. Right there on the card."

"Don't think you've ever said please to me before. You use that tone on me, you can have anything you want." Grabbing Buffy about the waist, Spike stole a quick kiss.

Winding her arms around him, she leaned in. "Want more. "

"No. We're waiting for later. Besides, you want your Egyptology lesson number one, right?" Spinning Buffy about, he planted her firmly before the exhibit and assumed his best lectury voice. "In here you've got an example of what happened when the early Egyptians began experimenting with mummymaking. That's Ginger. He got thrown into a pit, and the sand and heat dehydrated him. He's named for his red hair. Bloke's famous, got his picture in books all over the world."

"What's all that stuff around him?"

"Tools he worked with in life, vessels filled with food to go with him into the afterlife. The ancient Egyptians believed you could take it all with you." Spike nestled Buffy close against him and wondered if he could get away with touching her in these much more public rooms as he had before the Vindolinda Tablets. Probably. But it'd probably get us thrown out, too.

"So why aren't you upset with them relocating your mummies the way you were upset about your books?" Buffy demanded as they moved to the next exhibit.

"Mummies aren't personal. Books are. Here now, look at this. Won't see many of these about."

Buffy sighed. "What, a skeleton in a box?"

"That box is a First Dynasty basket coffin, showing how the Egyptians made mistakes when they started making mummies. The body rotted 'cause the moisture got trapped inside."

"Shopping and mummies. Both involve bodily violence, brainsucking and the like. Have it your way, Slayer, but you don't see these mummies now, they may not be here when you get back." He led her out of the Egyptian rooms.

"What, everybody in there is going to rise up and walk out next week?"

"Actually, yeah. They're disappearing all round the world. Some because they haven't been well kept, so the insects are getting them or the air's too hot or too cold and they're disintegrating. Others are leaving 'cause a lot of people think it's not right to look at a dead person in a museum, no matter how old the mummy is."

"How do you know this stuff?"

"Went to Winchester and Oxford," Spike said proudly. "Watched the History Channel and Discovery in SunnyD as well."

Staring up at him, Buffy looked incredulous. Spike had the pleasure of seeing her rendered speechless.

"What?" he said, defensive. "Nothing else for a vampire to do all day."

"It's not that. It's just... give me a minute to think." Pulling away from him, she looked back at the rooms they had vacated. "I watch television too, you know? Not so much when we were home because, hello, Slayer and no time to do much of that because the world was always ending. But over here I've had time in between training the new slayers."

Plopping down on a nearby stone bench, she swung her feet. "Some of those mummies found in America--the Native American ones found in caves--they date from four hundred to six hundred years aga. They were banned from display after an Act of Congress because they can be traced to families that still exists. There are tribal traditions that say a burial ground needs respected and a body needs to rest. They don't want their great-great-whatever grandfather displayed for the world to see."

"Yes. But even ancient mummies--including ones like you just saw--are also being removed from museums in the States," Spike pointed out. "You won't see one at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. any longer. Even on the Continent, some mummies--the Guanches, for example--have been removed from display. It's possible that certain bog bodies may be next, so if you want to see the Linden Man, see him here and now, or you may never get to."

"Grief, will you listen to yourself? You sound like a Victorian lecturer in some dusty hall. I mean, even your accent's changed, so am I talking to William or to Spike?"

He rocked back and didn't answer, so Buffy continued. "What's it matter if people can't gawk at dead people in museums anymore? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal," said Spike through gritted teeth and using air quotes, "is that many archaeologists and other scientists believe museum mummies offer a valuable educational service for the public. Mummies teach about past civilizations and societies. They also teach about the inevitability of death."

Buffy cocked her head. "Do you know that I've had slayers cry the first time they've dusted a vamp?"

"Did you cry?"

"Not then. After I got home and the shock set in, you bet I did. Teenagers don't think about dead things, so the first lesson a slayer learns is how fast things can change. How temporary life and unlife is."

"We vampires get an up close, personal lesson the moment we realize we're dead. Not everyone has our advantage--yours and mine."

She blinked up at him. "Have you had to learn that lesson three times because you've died three times?"

"Give the Slayer a Kewpie, she wins the grand prize."

"A what?"

"Not sure where those came from, actually. Anyway, are we arguing again?"

Buffy shook her head. "Not arguing. Discussing." Getting up from the bench, she came to slide her arms around Spike and hug him tight. "The dead are gone, there's nothing we can do to help them. We can only help the living. And lessons about dying? With or without the mummies, life teaches us all, doesn't it?"

"Guess it does." Resting his cheek on the top of Buffy's head, Spike shivered. "Hardest time for me was that summer you were gone, pet. Don't want to go through that again."

"The hardest time for me has been being without you after you burned up. I don't want to--" Her voice broke, she burrowed harder against him. "I can't be without you again. I still hurt inside when I think about it. Why is that, when you're standing right here?"

"Everyone's afraid of losing what we love, I'd reckon. Makes us hold on all the tighter." He stroked her hair. "You done spending time with the dead, Buffy?"

DISCLAIMERS: Blood Ties and its characters/teleplays are the property
of Tanya Huff, Insight Film, Chum TV, Kaleidoscope Entertainment and, their
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